


As Time Goes By

by princess_schez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_schez/pseuds/princess_schez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets a blast from the past when Sarah Blake – a long-ago love interest – calls with a poltergeist problem in her new house. But things aren’t what they seem, and quickly go horribly wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <img/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, [](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/profile)[**gidgetgal9**](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/), for her immeasurable help, and to the talented [](http://kiscinca.livejournal.com/profile)[**kiscinca**](http://kiscinca.livejournal.com/) for the awesome banner! Written for the [](http://summer-sam-love.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://summer-sam-love.livejournal.com/)**summer_sam_love**.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over Sam Winchester as he slowly regained consciousness. Slowly he opened his eyes, only making out blurred and out-of-focus shapes off in the distance. Only the soft flickering glow of candles and a light from somewhere off in the distance provided any light.

The feeling of something wet tickled at the corners of his mouth. Moving his arms, they only made it halfway to his face before he felt two painful tugs. Sam turned his head as best as he could to his right and left, a sharp pain shooting down his neck with each turn. Through bleary eyes he saw the large ropes on his arms, rendering them both immobile and useless.

Sam groaned, trying to remember what had happened leading up to this point, but his head throbbed and ached something terrible – feeling worse than any psychic vision he could remember. This felt like something had something cleaved his head in two. His midsection hurt something awful; he was almost certain he had a broken rib or two, judging by the intense pain radiating there.

Body aching right in tune with his throbbing head, Sam wished he could just curl up into a ball and die.

Any memories he could drudge up were hazy and came in quick flashes. Instinctively, he knew Dean had been there. His brother always was there, always had his back. But he couldn’t remember why or even remember where he was or what he had been doing.

A flash of a pretty brunette woman entered his mind, and he remembered Sarah was here too.

Vision still out of focus, Sam tried looking around hoping to jog something in his memory. Focusing on the flickering candles placed in a circle around him – the trademarks of an altar – as something dark off in the distance moved around his line of sight. What ever it was, he couldn’t distinguish it in the dark, as it ducked back into the protection of the shadows.

All was quiet, only his ragged breath providing any sound. He struggled against his restraints to no avail. He was simply too weak. Right now he sorely needed his brother, but Dean was nowhere near to help him.

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar and welcoming sound of Dean’s voice, and the loud din of something heavy crashing down the stairs.

"Dean!" he tried to yell, but his voice was hoarse and the word barely came out above a whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam watched Dean for a moment, trying to decipher the look on his face. But his older brother, much to Sam’s chagrin, had an excellent poker face – the kind of nondescript expression that would be the envy of any professional gambler. What was more, Dean preferred to keep all thoughts and emotions bottled up inside, never letting show what he really was feeling. That combination was never a good thing, as it had proved time and again. Yet as the saying went, old habits died hard.  
  
And in typical Dean fashion, he refused to talk about that time and instead changed the subject to whatever possible. And Sam more than knew better than to even broach the subject of Lisa and Ben lest he wanted a serious beat down in return.  
  
Things had been unusually quiet, but under the circumstances, it wasn’t hard to understand why given that Cas had recently declared himself the new God and was now not speaking to the brothers. Added to that, there was a pissed off King of Hell out there doing God only knows what in retaliation. There was definitely a dark cloud hovering over their lives.  
  
But the biggest thing had to be after Sam “reconnected” with his shattered soul fragments. Their lives – especially Sam’s – had gotten a bit dicey and scary for a time since they no longer had access to Cas’ healing powers, but the younger Winchester had prevailed. His older brother had been eternally grateful that he pulled through with only minimal damage, though Dean would’ve thrown all caution to the wind and called Castiel down to help, despite the consequences that would’ve been in store for him. But as long as it would’ve helped his brother, he would deal with whatever crap Cas would’ve given him if he could just help his brother.  
  
What they needed was a case to distract them and take their minds off things, to make their lives feel normal again. Something for them to reconnect with hunting, themselves, and most of all, each other. A simple salt and burn, a shapeshifter, vampire, witch, anything. Just something to occupy their time, but things had been strangely calm, and that was something that never boded well in their line of work. Monsters just didn’t go on vacation.  
  
Sitting down at their dingy motel table, Dean finished up his burrito and watched as his lanky brother pulled over a section of newspaper and began rifling though it.  
  
“Been through that already. Nothing of interest, unless you count Miss Alabama getting a boob job.” Dean smirked at his own little joke.  
  
Sam only smirked a little. Leave it to his brother to point out an article about some pageant winner getting a boob job. Sighing, the younger Winchester folded up the paper and leaned back in the rickety old chair that seemed like it crawled out the 60’s with its horrendous flower pattern.  
  
It had been well over a month since they had any job, the last being a run-of-the-mill vampire case in Tonopah. Though they enjoyed the free time to do as they pleased – like going to a baseball game in San Diego for a change – Sam knew his brother would go stir crazy soon if they didn’t get back on the road and hunt something. Beat waiting around for that proverbial shoe to drop and the peace and quiet to shatter.  
  
“Things usually aren’t this quiet for long,” Sam mused, mentioning the troubles on his mind. “Unless there’s a reason.” And silently, he figured that reason had to do with either Crowley or Cas.  
  
“Yeah, and that reason always – always – becomes a pain in our ass somehow.”  
  
Sam was going to reply back when his back pocket began vibrating.  
  
“Dude, you should take the batteries out of that thing at some point. Go get yourself a girl, it can’t be healthy to use it that often,” his older brother joked.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother before looking at the caller ID screen where flashed an unknown number.  
  
“Do we know anybody with an 845 area code?” he asked, hoping to change the subject from Dean’s wrong diagnosis of Sam’s sexual frustrations.  
  
The playfulness left Dean’s face for a moment. “No, no one I can think of.”  
  
Sam looked at it for a moment as it vibrated in his hands. Something about it seemed to jog a thought from deep within his memory. Something he couldn’t put a finger on as to why. Finally, he opened his phone, but wasn’t prepared to hear a frantic voice that sent him back years – too many lifetimes – ago.  
  
Dean watched closely as his brother’s face transitioned from shock to surprise, then to one of concern. Whoever was on the phone had clearly shaken his brother.  
  
-0-  
  
Her heart pounded in her chest, sending another course of adrenalin through her as she hurriedly scrolled through her phone’s address book looking for a particular number.  
  
She hoped it was still there.  
  
Thankfully it was. Even after all this time, she never found a good enough reason to see fit to delete it. And now, she was glad she hadn’t.  
  
Steadying herself to keep her hands from shaking, she pushed the dial button and listened to it ring. The thing, whatever it was, seemed to be resting at the moment, but she knew there wasn’t much time before the hell that had become her life would start all over again.  
  
Finally, a familiar voice answered.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Sam! It’s me, Sarah.” Her voice was both frantic and terrified. “Thank God you’re there!”  
  
There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Sarah, um, wow. It’s-it’s been a while. Are you okay? You sound –”  
  
“Please come quickly!”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“Same place. New Paltz, New York, but I have a new address. It’s 1245 West Lake Drive, and Sam, please hurry!”  
  
The call disconnected, and the cell phone fell, shattering on the floor. There was so much to the world of the supernatural that she still didn’t understand, yet it had an undeniable way of making her life miserable.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam looked at the quickly scribbled note in his hands, but the words weren’t registering in his mind.  
  
Sarah. Sarah Blake.  
  
Talk about a blast from the past.  
  
When they last parted, they shared a pretty hot kiss together – his first kiss since Jess died. Time had elapsed and so much had changed – he changed – since then that he didn’t know how things would be between them anymore. But none of that mattered now. She sounded like she was in serious trouble, and they needed to get to her ASAP.  
  
Now, at least, he knew why that number jogged something in his brain. It was a New York number. She was the only person they knew from that area.  
  
“Sarah? Who’s Sarah?” Dean asked, eyeing his brother with something like amusement. He wondered if Sarah was someone his brother had tangled up with back when he was without his soul. Which, if that was indeed the case, he didn’t want to know about.  
  
“Sarah Blake. Don’t you remember that old, haunted Merchant painting with the girl that was killing people?” Sam nodded at his phone.  
  
Dean’s eyes grew wide as the memories of that eventful case came flooding back. That had been a while – ages – ago. Back when things were simpler and hunts were purely kill first, ask questions later. Back before Hell had a snarky King and Heaven’s God didn’t have a massive chip on his shoulder.  
  
“Get outta town! Really?” Dean reached for the paper in his brother’s hand and looked over Sam’s quick scrawl.  
  
“She’s in trouble, but she didn’t elaborate as to what.”  
  
“Huh. Well, it shouldn’t take us more than a few hours to get there if we leave now.”  
  
Folding and pocketing the paper, he looked at his brother with a smirk back on his face. “Did she miss herself some Sammy?”  
  
Sam just rolled his eyes.  
  
-0-  
  
Dean patted the dashboard of the old black Impala lovingly as the car started up, the engine humming happily. Sam smirked to himself, glad that some things hadn’t changed despite the massive overhaul their lives had recently taken. Aside from the Impala needing another series of repairs, which Dean was more than willing to do for his beloved ‘baby’, being here in the Impala was always like coming home – familiar, friendly, and welcoming.  
  
Except for the fact that Dean now had the radio cranked to blasting out Van Halen – more specifically Running with the Devil – which was rather ironic in a way given everything they had been through, but it was all good.  
  
It wasn’t long before they were speeding along through the back roads, the open sky guiding them along. Sam wondered about Sarah, couldn’t help but imagine how her life had changed. She was probably married, or at least had someone in her life now. A safe and secure life. Something of which he and his brother could never have, but it was something that they each had come to terms with.  
  
“So what do you think she’s like now?” Dean asked, reading the questions in Sam’s mind.  
  
“I don’t know. Probably married or something.”  
  
“If she’s not?”  
  
Sam looked at his brother. “Are you saying I should just hook up with her, or something?”  
  
“Hey, if it were me –”  
  
“Dude, too much time has passed. I’m not the same person I was back then.”  
  
Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Who the hell is? I’m just saying, don’t rule anything out.”  
  
“Just concentrate on the road in front of you.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever.”  
  
-0-  
  
The rest of the drive to New Paltz was uneventful. And quiet, save for the best of mullet rock that Dean made him listen to, but that was to be expected.  
  
It was well into the evening as they rolled into the sleepy town, and the elder Winchester pulled out the scrap of paper with Sarah’s address on it, glancing up and down at the street names looking for 1245 West Lake Drive.  
  
A modest two-story house sat a fair distance away from the street, a quaint cul-de-sac neighborhood that looked too picturesque to be the scene of something supernatural. But looks were often deceiving. And it was those innocuous-looking ones that often got people killed.  
  
“Looks like she’s done pretty well for herself,” Dean commented, eyeing the brick façade and the well-kept lawn of the house.  
  
Sam nodded, as Dean maneuvered the car into a spot just in front of a black BMW convertible. No sooner had the car’s ignition been turned off when the front door to the house burst open and a pretty brunette woman hurried out, the blue scarf around her neck flapping behind her like a wing.  
  
She looked nothing like the vibrant young woman either one remembered, who had once been healthy and full of life. Now looking tired and sick with dark circles under her eyes, it seemed she hadn’t slept in weeks.  
  
“Thank God you’re here! It’s happening all over again!”


	4. Chapter 4

There hadn’t been time for the usual reminiscing about past times together as the young woman grabbed the younger Winchester’s hand and began to pull him into her house. Dean followed closely behind.  
  
She lead them into her living room where furniture was sitting upright against the walls, lamps were standing upside down, family portraits lie in broken frames on the floor, and what had been a nice bottle of wine sitting on an ornate glass table now lay on its side, its contents already having spilled onto the once pristine floor.  
  
No matter where the Winchesters looked, something was definitely amiss and wrong.  
  
Dean whistled softly. “This is definitely a classic poltergeist haunting.”  
  
“I don’t know why it’s happening, but it started almost as soon as I moved in a few weeks ago,” she began, slightly out of breath.  
  
“Something like this can be a traumatic experience,” Sam commented, placing a hand on her shoulder in a friendly gesture, noticing her downcast look. Sarah looked up and smiled weakly. She looked to be on the verge of tears as she rubbed her temples with her fingers, looking if possible even more exhausted and drained than she already was.  
  
“I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Every time I close my eyes for just one second, this happens.” She indicated to the entire living room at large. “I clean it up, but it just happens again and again. Do you know what could’ve attracted it to me? I mean, this house is basically brand new!”  
  
“It could be any number of things,” Sam replied. “A house doesn’t have to be old or new to have these kinds of problems. Lots of times ghosts are only attached to a specific item. But poltergeist hauntings are typically centered around a child or teenager. So this is… kinda an oddity, but not completely unheard of.”  
  
Sarah sighed. “Great. Leave it to me to be one of the rarities.”  
  
“Let’s do an EMF sweep, see if we can spot anything odd,” Dean said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his homemade EMF detector.  
  
Both brothers moved further into the living room as they examined the mess.  
  
Sam leaned down to inspect the family portraits, his meter hovering over them as a weird feeling crept in his stomach. None of the portraits showed Sarah with a husband. He was sure Dean would not-too-subtly point this fact out to him later and – on top of the dead giveaway that she wasn’t wearing a ring – make the suggestion that he go out with her again.  
  
His brother really liked Sarah, thinking she was a good fit for him. Truth was, Sam agreed, but his track record with past love interests wasn’t good. It would’ve killed him to see Sarah die a horrible death because of him, because he was who he was. It was for this reason he would not get involved with her, to just simply stay away from her for her sake and safety.  
  
Pushing these thoughts from mind, he moved on to investigative the ornate glass table, where the meter only gave a half-hearted beep, nothing strong enough to signify that any kind of supernatural presence had been there.  
  
“What are those?”  
  
“EMF readers,” Sam stated, looking up to Sarah’s glances at the strange Walkman hybrid. “Ghosts give off electromagnetic frequencies, which can be detected with this.” He indicated the meter, which had remained unusually quiet for supposed ghostly activity in the vicinity. “These ones we made ourselves.” He gave a weak kind of laugh.  
  
On the other side of the room, Dean ran his own meter over every possible inch; the only disturbance his meter picked up came from the electrical wiring.  
  
“Huh,” he said, looking confused at his meter. “I’m not picking up anything odd here.”  
  
“Same here,” Sam replied, turning his meter off and pocketing it.  
  
“So, what does that mean? Am... Am I crazy?” she sputtered, looking between the brothers for an answer to verify her sanity.  
  
“No, it doesn’t mean there isn’t a ghost here, but it’s highly unusual there isn’t any detectable EMF,” the younger Winchester replied.  
  
“I can’t ever remember a case where there wasn’t any trace of EMF following a haunting,” Dean added, more to himself than anything.  
  
Sam noticed the crestfallen look on her face. It was a look he had seen many times before when there wasn’t a way to prove the victim wasn’t losing it. “It just means we need to investigate further. Do you have any old objects, maybe from your dad’s auction house stored here?” he inquired.  
  
Sarah’s brow furrowed for a moment, thinking it over. “No, but I do have an antique crystal vase he gave me as a housewarming present. Why? Y-you don’t think –?”  
  
Sam shot a look over at Dean. “Can we see it?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s down in the basement, but I won’t be able to reach it. I had my dad put it on an old bookcase of ours. I – I was worried it would get ruined with everything that’s been going on. My dad probably thought I was nuts when I told him what was happening.” She looked between Sam and Dean for an answer, waiting for one of them to reply. “What if that’s the cause of all the problems?”  
  
Dean looked thoughtful for a moment. “It might not even be that. You said this house is new, do you know what might’ve been here before it was built?”  
  
Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, I don’t think there was anything here prior, just an empty lot.”  
  
“Huh, well, while you two check out the vase, I’m gonna give the whole lot and neighborhood a once through to see it sets off the EMF.”  
  
-0-  
  
“Just want to give you a heads up that the light isn’t working down here,” she said, leading him through a door just off the kitchen that took them down into the basement. “I don’t know a lot about the paranormal, but why was Dean so interested in the outside?”  
  
“Even though the house might be new, the land itself could be the cause of the problem. A lot of the times, the cause of a home haunting could come from any number of things, like maybe the house could be built over an ancient burial ground. Or if there was a battle in history fought here, and this is the site of a murder or something violent.”  
  
Sarah stopped and looked back at him, eyes wide. “Really?”  
  
“When a house is built over a grave or any place where someone has died, if there’s a spirit attached to it, the ghost won’t be happy its resting place – or the place where it died – is disturbed.  
  
Sarah groaned as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Funny, I don’t remember my realtor saying anything about old graves or crimes scenes taking place on the land.”  
  
“There’s no law stating they have to mention it.”  
  
“That’s just wrong.”  
  
Sam stepped forward, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Boxes upon boxes sat stacked along the walls, but no bookcase. Sarah remained by the stairs, watching as Sam looked for the nonexistent items. Bending over, she picked something long and metallic off the ground, her once stunning blue eyes turning black.  
  
“Um, Sarah, where’s –” he began, turning around just in time to see the demon swing a fire poker at his head. 


	5. Chapter 5

Careful was the way to do it. Slow, but meticulous. It was, after all, the way she had been taught. And what she, herself, had to endure. As time went by, it had become almost therapeutic in a way, picking up the knife and finally getting to dole out some of the shit she had to endure in her mortal life for a change.  
  
After placing her candles in the shape of an inverted pentagram, the demon – almost lovingly in a way – ran a small knife over the toned muscles of Sam’s shirtless body leaving little trails of red in its wake.  
  
She took great care in her work. Alastair taught her well before his untimely death at the hands of the unconscious man before her.  
  
-0-  
  
Dean looked around at the well-manicured lawns and immaculate houses of the cul-de-sac. It was the quintessential little neighborhood that so many people often dreamed of living in. People who obviously weren’t him. People who didn’t know about the things that went bump in the night and went about their daily lives in blissful ignorance.  
  
He gave suburban life a shot, only to have it blow up spectacularly in his face. He thought about Lisa and Ben, and how close he had gotten away from the life of a hunter, only to be pulled back in. He still thought about them a lot, but he couldn’t dwell on it, not now.  
  
He checked the headphones in his ears as he casually walked down the sidewalk, trying not to stand out like a sore thumb, lest he wanted one of the neighbors to call the cops and report a strange man loitering in their neighborhood.  
  
The walkman remained quiet, only picking up the normal electric disturbances present in the area. If there were any ghostly happenings on West Lake Drive, he couldn’t see it. Some of the houses were vacant, others were occupied, and it was these ones he checked. But the lots were large and spaced, so investigating them took a little time.  
  
Glancing down at his phone, he expected Sam to have called – if only to tell him that it was indeed the vase.  
  
But he did see someone returning home a few houses down. Dean hoped that if he could chat up some of the residents, he could get a clearer picture of what was going on and see if any one else had any problems.  
  
He walked over, pocketed his walkman, and gave a friendly wave as an older couple got out of their car.  
  
“Hi, my name’s Dean,” he introduced. “I’m kinda new to the area, and I was hoping you could help me.”  
  
The couple exchanged a look before returning the gesture. Probably because it was well into the evening, and they didn’t know if he was a would-be robber looking to score.  
  
“Hello, Dean, I’m Jake, this is my wife Amy. How can we help you?” the man asked.  
  
“My wife and I have been looking at houses in the area, and we kinda wanted to talk to the neighbors and get a real feel for the neighborhood.” Dean looked at his watch, and feigned a look of surprise. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t realize the time. We’ve been just so super busy. In fact, I have to go pick her up from her sister’s soon.”  
  
“Well,” the wife began, “if you two like a quiet, tranquil area, this would be perfect, especially if you have children. But –”  
  
Dean met the woman’s eyes, wondering what was going to follow the hesitant ‘but.’  
  
“Lately, it seems that – oh, I hate to speak ill of our neighbors, but the young lady who lives down the street,” she indicated directly to Sarah’s house, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows, “well, she seemed so sweet and nice when she first moved in.”  
  
“Really?” Dean asked, genuinely surprised.  
  
The woman sighed. “Lately, she’s been… different. I can’t explain it.”  
  
“Different how?”  
  
“The other day when we were walking Mitzi, I could’ve sworn I-I saw her lighting candles and chanting something in a strange language. We tried to get a closer look, but we didn’t know what to make of it. And she’s been so gaunt lately, that I worry she’s been doing drugs.”  
  
Alarms louder than Castiel’s angelic voice blared in Dean’s head. There were no ghosts or poltergeists involved, it was a trap; it had all been a trap to get them here. And they fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.  
  
Quickly bidding the couple a hasty goodbye, Dean set back off toward Sarah’s house, his stomach clenching in anxiety.


	6. Chapter 6

Sarah’s face broke into a smile when she looked down at the young man, inspecting her work proudly.  
  
Three-hundred and sixty years – or three years in Earth time. It had been a long while since she last walked the earth in human form, enjoying the sensation of having whole flesh surrounding her again, and not having it pulled and shredded to pieces by the Hellhounds that drug her to into the Pit from that dingy motel room.  
  
Though she may not have been a demon very long and had yet to fully grow her abilities, she worked just as efficiently without them – especially since she did a considerable number on the young man with just the poker and knife alone. His cuts were the least of it, and she suspected there might be a few broken bones as well, but those she couldn’t be too sure of. A streak of red stuck out from where the poker made contact with his head, leaving a bright red gash tangled with clumps of matted hair.  
  
Sitting next to him, she fingered the fresh cuts on his bruised torso, making them bleed onto her fingers. However, Sam didn’t flinch. He was still out cold. She placed a hand by his lips, feeling a faint, tickling breath on her fingers before she licked off the sticky wetness.  
  
She could’ve finished him off here and now, but she didn’t want to kill the younger Winchester, at least not yet. This was her chance to score her some much-needed brownie points with Crowley, showing that she could be a force to be reckoned with, as well as provide some much needed revenge against the brothers. Now she just needed Dean to return and she’d have her aces in the hole.  
  
Idly, she twirled the fire poker between her blood-stained fingers, whistling quiet to herself. Underneath the anger and resentment lay an emotion that didn’t solely belong to her newest meatsuit. Lingering feelings of lust coursed through her as she gently stroked the side of the younger Winchester’s face with the poker.  
  
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” she whispered, almost singing to herself, “what are we going to do with you and your brother? What makes you two so special to just up and leave Hell, while the rest of us are left to suffer?”  
  
Yet, the more she thought about it, ‘suffering’ wasn’t entirely true. Aside from the fact that more often than not, her intestines had been used as some kind of macabre adornment, going to Hell had almost been a blessing in disguise, but no one would have to know that.  
  
The unconscious man gave only a weak exhale of breath, to which the demon smiled wider.  
  
“All in good time, I suppose, love. But I have to go and meet your brother now.”  
  
-0-  
  
Dean swore angrily to himself. How could he not see it? The fact there was so EMF should’ve clued him in, but no. He made a costly mistake, and he prayed it didn’t end with Sam paying for it with his life.  
  
He felt the demon killing knife weighing heavier against his skin from its place tucked into his pants. It was a last resort to use it, he knew. Using it meant having to kill Sarah, and he didn’t think he could do it, knowing full well what it would do to Sam. But if it was between his brother and the young woman….  
  
He opened the door and slammed it shut. Dean knew if he wanted to make sure everyone got out safe and alive, he would have to play along with the demon until he got a chance to act.  
  
And speaking of the proverbial devil, Sarah was waiting for him in her mess of a living room, looking as innocent as possible.  
  
“Dean, I’m glad you’re back. Sam sent me up to get you. He-he had something he wanted to show you.”  
  
The older Winchester had to bite his tongue to keep his emotions in check.  
  
“Uh, sure. Did he say what he found?”  
  
“No, just that it was something with the vase.”  
  
With a heavy pit in his stomach, Dean followed Sarah through her kitchen and stopped in front of the basement stairs.  
  
It was the oldest trick in the demonic book.  
  
Dean took the lead, keeping a hand firmly on the railing as he stole a quick look to his left. Through the darkness, he saw the outline of Sam on the ground with candles encircling him.  
  
An altar.  
  
A freaking altar.  
  
And his brother was in the middle of the damn thing. It took a great deal of effort not to let his façade drop as he ever so casually reached for the demon killing knife. No sooner had he done so that the petite Sarah made to push Dean down the stairs.  
  
With one hand still holding onto the railing, he swung around with the knife, taking the demon by surprise as she fell back against the stairs, her head making contact with the stairs as the knife sliced into her arm. She screamed in agony.  
  
“Bitch, you don’t screw with me or my brother!” he growled, grabbing hold of Sarah’s legs and pulling her down the stairs. He needed to go check on his brother, but he couldn’t leave without securing the demon to something.  
  
He was short on options and supplies – and not knowing how bad of shape Sam was in – time, so doing a full fledged exorcism just wasn’t an option right now. Not left with many options, he decided to do the one thing he was sure Sarah would at least survive. As Dean tussled with the young woman, he grabbed her right hand and impaled it to the wooden banister with the knife. Blood splattered onto the wood, staining it in shades of red as Sarah let out another ear-splitting scream. Dean knew if he wasn’t quick enough, Sarah would bleed out and die, but he needed those few seconds to help his brother.  
  
Her head shot up, solid black eyes glaring at Dean as she tried to remove the knife. “You son of a bitch! Just wait until I-”  
  
“What? Get a hold of me? Sister, I’ve heard it all before from your kind, so cram it!” Dean snarled.  
  
For the moment, the demon was taken care of, now he just needed to check on his brother. He gasped when he saw his brother, at just how bad off he was. Bloodied and only semi-conscious, Sam had bruises and cuts lining his midsection like roadmaps and a gash along the side of his head that glistened with fresh blood. Dean swore quietly under his breath, vowing painful revenge against the demon that did this.  
  
“D-Dean,” Sam whispered, his eyes barely open.  
  
“Sammy, it’s okay, I’m here. Everything will be fine.”  
  
“Sarah,” gasped Sam, the name coming out in barely a whisper. “G-Go… h-help… her.”  
  
Dean quickly glanced back at the girl with the impaled hand, before turning back to his brother. Talk about being damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. They were both in bad shape, but Sam needed him more. Yet if he didn’t deal with the Sarah issue now, he’d have to deal with the demon as he tried to help his brother. His brother would’ve been proud at the record pace of the Latin exorcism Dean was about to recite.  
  
Rushing back over and grabbing hold of Sarah’s uninjured arm, he thrust it behind her as he spit out the exorcism recitation at record speed.  
  
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus  
omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio  
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,  
omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”  
  
Sarah coughed, gagging on the thin tendrils of black smoke that gingerly crept up her throat. Dean pressed on.  
  
“Ergo draco maledicte  
et omnis legio diabolica  
adjuramus te.  
Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,  
eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”  
  
Dean shot a quick look over at his brother, making sure all was – well, just to make sure there were no signs of further distress.  
  
“Vade, Satana, inventor et magister  
omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.  
Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,  
contremisce et effuge, invocato a  
nobis sancto et terribili nomine,  
quem inferi tremunt.”  
  
Sarah continued to struggle against her captor, but Dean pressed her arm further into her back, keeping her immobile as she screeched louder and tried to throw him off of her. Kicking her feet did nothing but bruise the shins of her borrowed meat suit.  
  
“You… bastard!” she choked, a fresh wave of black smoke pouring out of her mouth. “No such way to treat an old friend!”  
  
“Bitch, shut your piehole! Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.  
Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire  
te rogamus, audi nos.  
Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris,  
te rogamus, audi nos!”  
  
Sarah’s head bent back further than it had before, mouth open wide as a rush of inky black smoke poured out, cowardly exiting through the open door upstairs and out the vent into the night air.  
  
Body going limp, Dean gently set her down, removing the scarf around her neck and tying it around her hand to help stem the flow of blood.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean pulled at the ropes restraining his brother as Sam tried unsuccessfully to sit up. The ropes were tightly knotted and wouldn’t budge. "Whoa, hold on there, Sam," he warned, placing his hands on his brother’s bare shoulders to get him to lie down again.  
  
It would’ve been almost amusing if it was so life threatening. And, Dean wondered, was there some unwritten demonic rule or something that sacrificial victims had to be half-dressed that he wasn’t hip to?  
  
Sam was unusually weak, and Dean was worried with the injury to the side of his head there might’ve been a concussion. Knowing he couldn’t take that risk of having his brother injure himself further by trying to get up on his own, he patted his brother’s face – his brother’s unfocused eyes staring up him, as Dean said calmly, "Follow my finger."  
  
Placing his index finger in front of Sam’s face, his brother’s eyes squinted at Dean’s finger, struggling to follow along as he moved it from side to side.  
  
Quietly, Dean swore to himself, not wanting to worry his brother or Sarah. Damn it. His worst suspicions confirmed, he needed to get his brother to a hospital ASAP. And Sarah too. She had lost a serious amount of blood, and as he glanced over at the shaking woman still holding the now completely soaked scarf to her wounded hand, looked ashen and scared.  
  
Her eyes darted back and forth from the fire poker lying absently on the ground near the makeshift altar, to Sam, and back again. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. Dean knew the look all too well, having seen it many times before in innocent people who harmed others while possessed: she had been conscious during the attack, and was now in full-fledged guilt.  
  
Noticing her worried glances, Dean tried to give the young woman a consoling look, but he knew the only way he could truly help them at the moment was to get Sam freed from his binds and take them to the hospital.  
  
Pulling out a small pocket knife, Dean cut and sliced into the rope’s thick fibers, prying the knots loose and careful to avoid any further damage to his brother. Feeling the gaze of his brother on him as he cut through the rope gave Dean a small bit of comfort.  
  
"Honestly, do I have to dress you too?" he asked, turning his head and giving a weak smile to his brother. Hoping Sam would do the same, but his brother only managed a feeble sort of grimace as his older brother slid the shirt over his head and pulled his arms through.  
  
The whole scenario vaguely reminded Dean of when they were kids and how he often had to help dress Sammy before school. Most people would’ve resented taking on so much responsibility to help care for a younger sibling, but not Dean; he loved being able to take care of his brother. Even if his brother could be a massive pain-in-the-ass at times.  
  
"Easy does it," he whispered, carefully trying to hoist his brother off the ground, which wasn’t easy considering his younger brother’s large figure.  
  
Sam stood, wobbly and weak, looking like an overgrown faun as he leaned heavily on his brother for support. Dean tried not to let show how difficult it was to keep him up, though there was a part of him that wondered just how Sarah had managed to tip the furniture upstairs as well as get Sam over to the altar in the first place knowing that moving his brother was like trying to move a beached whale.  
  
Demons had strength, but some of it depended on the meat suit they inhabited – and going by the fact that this particular demon used a fire poker and knife on his brother and nothing else – lent credence to the idea that this was some low-level newbie without powers.  
  
If he wound up throwing his back out from this, he wouldn’t let Sam live it down. Though, it wasn’t truly anyone’s fault – except for the demon’s – but he always looked for an excuse to tease Sam.  
  
After all, it’s what big brothers did.  
  
Balancing his brother and cautiously walking over to the stairs as not to cause Sam to fall, Dean looked at Sarah and asked, "Are you able to walk?"  
  
-0-  
  
Dean had gotten quiet the workout – what with helping his brother up the stairs and out to the car, before hightailing it back to help Sarah – who, in her weakened state, had needed some assistance herself. Thankfully, she wasn’t anywhere nearly as heavy as Sam.  
  
Panting slightly and feeling sympathy pains for Atlas, he gently placed her into the backseat before climbing in to the driver’s side and sliding the key into the ignition.  
  
"T-there’s a hospital… not far from here," she muttered, pressing further into the seats, her eyes half closed.  
  
Sam, however, was still nonverbal and slouching into his seat, head down. Panicking was a well mastered forte Dean’s as he pressed two fingers on Sam’s neck, wondering if this would be the day he’d have to grovel to Cas. But Heavenly retribution would have to wait another day, as Dean let out a small breath of relief when he felt a faint but still detectable heartbeat.  
  
After doing a quick check to make sure no one was in the way, Dean put the pedal to the metal as the silence of the neighborhood was shattered when the car roared to life, squealing off into the night.  
  
Mitzi, Jake, Amy, and all the other suburban hellhole dwellers be damned.


	8. Chapter 8

“I don’t know what happened exactly, just that he was in some kind of accident.”  
  
“Well, for now, we’ll just let him rest and treat his injuries. But any info you can give as to how he and Ms. Blake obtained their injuries would be appreciated.”  
  
Dean nodded as the attending physician left, and went back to sitting by Sam’s bedside, waiting for his brother to wake. When Sam was brought in the other day, he had been semi-conscious and delirious. Things had gotten more worrisome when Sam was awake and had started confusing this case and the last time they helped Sarah. Dean had to wonder just how hard Sam got whacked in the head. Apparently it had been enough to scramble his circuits a bit.  
  
But now, he was finally resting peacefully. It had been hard to explain to the doctors and nurses how his brother and Sarah had gotten injured, but most of the awkward questions would be saved for later, much later. Hopefully with enough time for them to shag ass out beforehand.  
  
But until then, he’d just sit here and wait and pray to one of the Gods that Sam would go back to his usual old and annoying self.  
  
Sighing, it occurred to him how all too often one of them usually wound up in the hospital.  
  
-0-  
  
Flashes of memories swirled inside his head, each indistinguishable from the next, unsure of where one ended and the other began. There was a girl with a razor, dressed in Victorian clothes, and Sarah’s delicate features marred by black demonic eyes. She smiled something awful as the girl slit Sarah’s throat, black smoke and red droplets pouring out from the gaping wound. The two figures morphed into one and Sam opened his eyes with a start.  
  
Unsure of where he was now, everything in his mind was muddled, though he hoped the image of seeing Sarah’s throat cut was just a horrible nightmare.  
  
Around him, there was no more darkness, but blindingly painful lights above, some of which were twinkling. Not feeling all that much – except for a tight squeezing around his head, he could hear the muffled sounds of his brother snoring coming from somewhere nearby mixed with a rhythmic mechanical beeping.  
  
Cautiously, he raised a hand and felt the ton of bandages wrapped around his head. Around him, the soft humming and beeping of different machines faded softly in and out with Dean’s heavy breathing. The hospital. He was in the hospital. And drugged pretty heavily, which explained why lights were twinkling before him and his thought process was messed up.  
  
Trying to sit up so he could see better, the sounds of snoring stopped and a pair of firm hands – belonging to his brother – met his shoulders.  
  
“Easy there, kiddo.”  
  
Sam looked into Dean’s tired eyes. It looked like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. “W-what happened?”  
  
“What do you remember?”  
  
Sam’s face scrunched up as he tried to remember, his thoughts going back to the nightmare he woke from. “A little girl… and Sarah –”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows raised a bit. “Uh, dude,” he began, “you’re not talking about the little girl in the old painting are you?”  
  
Sam nodded slightly, looking at his brother quizzically. He tried to think, to push himself to remember, to move through the blur. Dean watched cautiously as Sam struggled through the depths of memories and drugs, wondering about what would happen if he tried to push too much in his situation.  
  
“You’re, like, way behind the times there, Sammy. Do you remember getting a call from Sarah? Or us driving to her house because she claimed she had a poltergeist problem? Everything had been a trap to get us there, which is why we found no EMF. Do you remember that?”  
  
Everything his brother said rang true. The events of that day came through in a flood of memories, starting with Sarah leading him to the basement, the pain of her attacking him and him awaking to find himself in excruciating pain and tied down inside the makeshift altar. He faintly remembered a struggle, and Dean helping him into the Impala. And now it all made perfect sense.  
  
“She was possessed,” Sam groaned. “How could we not see it before?”  
  
Dean nodded, wondering how some piss-poor demon gotten the better of them. But no matter how powerful or not, demons always had a sick talent for exploited friends and family, like it did to theirs over and over again. It was why hunters kept mostly to themselves, to prevent things like this from happening. It was why his brother had to drop all his old friends from Stanford.  
  
“Well, other than that, you got whacked pretty good in the head. Your midsection is bruised, and you have cuts lining your body like a roadmap, but thankfully no broken bones.”  
  
“Yeah, thankfully,” Sam replied sardonically with a huff.  
  
Dean couldn’t help but smirk a little at his brother’s injured bitch face before sighing, semi-relieved that his brother was regaining his memories and seemed to be getting back to his old pain-in-the-ass self. Yet the silence was broken when there was a knock on the door, and he got up to answer it.  
  
Sarah was standing there, looking better than she had when they first met. Her right hand was completely bandaged up and she seemed in good spirits – or at least as good as possible, considering she was probably now traumatized for life. When she looked around and saw Sam, her will to stay strong faulted a bit.  
  
Sam noticed the bandage on her hand, failing to remember how she obtained it. It was the one thing he couldn’t remember. Trying to make a mental note, he decided he would have to ask Dean about it later.  
  
"How are you doing?" Dean asked.  
  
Sarah looked down at her hand and sighed. “Good. I just needed some stitches and some meds. They also gave me some blood for what I lost. The doctor is confident I'll regain use of it in time.”  
  
Sam didn’t know what to make of this, but he could see Dean swallowing hard, and look almost guilty over something. “Hey, I'm sorry for impaling your hand, and –”  
  
The younger Winchester nearly choked on his own saliva. Dean impaled Sarah’s hand?  
  
She raised her other hand in an effort to stop Dean from continuing, nodding her head solemnly. “Really, you don't have to apologize or anything. I understand, I really do.”  
  
“I know, but still... I could've found a different way to –”  
  
"Dean, you couldn't help it. In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I could’ve killed him, I nearly did. And you, too.” Her eyes met Sam’s for the briefest of seconds before looking away – feeling too much shame and guilt.  
  
From his place on the bed, Sam could tell that by the way Dean looked – and just the fact that he knew his brother better than anyone – that he didn’t blame her in the slightest. Everyone in the business knew demonic possessions were a bitch, and the poor woman looked to be on the verge of tears as is. Pulling her close, Dean wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman until she calmed down a bit, and when she finally pulled away, Sarah dabbed at her eyes and smiled at Dean.  
  
“How’s he doing?” she asked.  
  
“Fine,” Dean replied, half-truthfully. As long as she didn’t ask further, Dean wouldn’t have to lie to her or make her feel worse than she already was. It was this fact that made Sam respect his brother even more. He would never intentionally hurt someone, not if he could avoid it.  
  
Sam weakly smiled up at the pretty young woman as she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. They still felt as soft as he remembered, still had that faintly sweet smell from her lip gloss that he wished he could’ve bottled and released when times got too stressful – to take him back to a place where he still felt safe.  
  
“Sam, I’m really sorry for what I did to you.”  
  
“It was the demon, not you,” he replied, his voice still hoarse.  
  
“I know, but I was awake for the entire thing. I-l never would’ve forgiven myself if I –”  
  
Sarah could barely get the next word out as he reached up to take hold of her hand. But every machine known to medicine was hooked up to him, so the gesture was slightly lost, but she grabbed it with her free hand and smiled down at him.  
  
That same familiar sparkle was there, but after everything that had transpired, something in them changed, taking away that part of her life she could never get back.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Piecing ones life back together was never as easy as it sounded. The Winchesters would attest to that, but their lives had been shattered and broken so many times that they were numb and oblivious to its damaging effects. However, Sarah wasn’t accustomed to it, it was plainly obvious by how withdrawn she’d become.  
  
Each picking up one end of the couch, the Winchesters repositioned it back into a normal, non-poltergeist-looking arrangement as Sarah – still with only one useable hand – picked up the upside down lamps and set them upright.  
  
While everything was relatively salvageable, the ornate frames that held her family portraits were damaged beyond repair, and her carpet still bore the dark burgundy stain. But these were just minor – inconsequential – things.  
  
"I really do appreciate your guys help," she said, her voice a bit wistful. Looking around the room, everything was back the way it had been, before this hellish nightmare took over her life.  
  
"No problem, it’s the least we can do," Sam replied. He rubbed the side of his head, feeling where the gash had been. It still looked plenty painful, but it was at least not bleeding anymore.  
  
After some protesting by Sarah, Dean had asserted that Sam’s few days in the hospital had provided all the care it could, and that a 5th of vodka and a good night’s sleep in a dingy motel room was the cure for anything. This had led to some gasps from the young woman, to which Dean had to quickly add that such was the way of life for a hunter. Injuries and illnesses – unless truly life threatening – were treated on the road.  
  
"And," Dean added, "the hospital staff kept pressing me with questions about how you two got your injuries. Saying it was the cause of demonic possession would’ve gotten all of us sent for a quick observation to the mental ward."  
  
Having already been in one once to help a friend out, the Winchesters had no desire to go back for a repeat performance. They already knew they were certifiable, they didn’t need professional proof.  
  
The room finally straightened up, the brothers took a step back and inspected their work in mock examination much to the amusement of Sarah, who enjoyed laughing for what felt like the first time in ages.  
  
"What are you going to do after this?" Dean asked.  
  
Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment. "Take a vacation. A nice, long vacation. What about you guys?"  
  
"Hit the road, look for another errant demon or spook to hunt," the elder Winchester replied.  
  
"Don’t you guys ever get tired of it? The life on the road? The constant injuries and… fear?"  
  
Sam smirked. "We are tired of it. Trust me. But that’s the price of being a hunter. And settling down with someone only puts them at risk."  
  
Shooting a look to his brother, he could sense what Dean was thinking. And their names were Lisa and Ben.  
  
"What happened with you is only the tip of the ice burg," Sam continued. "You just happened to get a lower-level newbie."  
  
Sarah couldn’t believe that what she had inside her was just some inexperienced demon. The hate that coursed through her was unlike anything she ever felt before, and it was something she never wanted to go through – or feel – again.  
  
"At least keep in touch, please?" she asked, patting Sam on the hand.  
  
Sam nodded, enjoying the feeling of knowing – and being – loved by someone, but the risks far outweighed the benefits. He couldn’t put Sarah in danger.  
  
She wrapped her arms around the younger Winchester, pulling him in close as she rested her head against his muscular shoulder. Haunted, murderous paintings were one thing, demonic possessions were another. She knew why Sam had been hesitant with her all those years ago, and why he couldn’t be with her now. He and his brother had a truly dangerous job.  
  
Wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes, Sam leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As time went by, she would forget about him and move past the recent horrors. Sam didn’t mind. Frankly, he was used to being alone by now – only having his brother for moral support. As long as she was safe and alive, that was all that mattered.  
  
Speaking of, Sam reached into his pants pocket and produced a small, silvery object.  
  
"What is that?" she asked.  
  
"Protection charm. Wear this and no more demon problems."  
  
Gingerly she took the small medallion, running a finger over the engraved pentacle. "Always."  
  
Nodding, the Winchesters took leave, and climbed back inside the Impala. From her door, she watched the car as it pulled away from her driveway and off into the distance before disappearing from sight.  
  
The End.


End file.
